


It Goes On

by gemjam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Full Shift Werewolves, Loneliness, M/M, Post Hale Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 14:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15997079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: Peter runs a sanctuary for wolves, and prefers running with them to associating with people. His peace is shattered by a new vet turning up on his doorstep.





	It Goes On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/gifts).



> Belated birthday fic for Bunnywest <3

Peter is fully shifted, running through the Sanctuary with the wolves, when he hears an unfamiliar car making its way up the drive. He growls instinctively, the nearest wolves looking warily before realising it’s not directed at them. They turn their attention to the gate instead, where Peter’s eyes are already fixed, looking for an intruder.

Peter picks up his speed, no longer playful, a couple of the more loyal wolves following along and offering themselves as back up. Peter shifts as he reaches the gate, shooing them back so he can make his way through it. He ducks into the hut as he sees a blue jeep pulling up, grabbing his sweatpants and shoving his feet into his sneakers. He goes back outside, shirt in hand, to find some kid with awkward limbs clambering out of the beat-up jeep.

“Can I help you?” Peter demands.

The kid turns, startled, his eyes going wide as he sees Peter, sweatpants slung low, shirt still grasped by his side.

“I, uh, I…” he stammers, eyes still fixed to Peter’s abs, not that Peter can blame him. He’s almost tempted to flex. He doesn’t like unannounced arrivals though, it spooks the wolves and being caught out in wolf form is dangerous.

“You’re what?” he snaps.

The kid looks up at his face, composing himself, but his cheeks are still pink, his heady arousal scenting the air. “I’m Stiles.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Peter asks, pulling on his shirt.

“Deaton sent me,” Stiles says. He holds up his bag. “The pups need their second round of worming.”

“Deaton sent _you_?” Peter asks incredulously. “Who the hell are you? I deal with Deaton. _Exclusively_ with Deaton.”

Stiles shrugs, anxiety coming off him in waves, stinging the back of Peter’s throat. “I’m newly qualified, I just started working with him, he needed someone to help pick up the slack.”

“And you’re, what? Sixteen?” Peter goads, eyes sliding over him. He’s not bad looking, if a little scrawny for Peter’s tastes.

Stiles’ eyes flash with irritation. “I’m twenty-six,” he responds tightly. “Where are the pups?”

“Deaton knows he’s not supposed to send anyone else out here,” Peter says.

“Well, considering he’s never had anyone to send before, maybe he forgot,” Stiles says.

“Look, just give me the pills, I can do it myself,” Peter says.

Stiles shifts on his feet, irritation giving way to a fresh wave of anxiety. “Can you let me do it?” he asks, all authority vanishing. “I’m trying to get as much hands-on experience as I can, that’s why Deaton let me take this. And I’d really love to meet the pups.”

Peter sighs, feeling himself give. Stiles’ eyes are as round and appealing as the pup’s are.

“I guess you’re already here,” he relents. “But Deaton is going to answer for this shit.”

“That’s between you and him,” Stiles shrugs, unconcerned now he’s gotten what he wanted. Peter wants to drop fang on this kid. “The pups?” Stiles prompts.

“Follow me,” Peter says, heading for the building. “It’s just the pills today, right? You don’t need to examine them.”

“They just need the worming treatment,” Stiles confirms. “But I’d like to get a good look at them.”

“I’m not dragging them into the examination room for that,” Peter tells him. “I’ll just get them in the den.”

He leads Stiles through the facility, food prep, examination space, through to the door to the wolves’ sleeping quarters. The Sanctuary covers the whole of the Hale property, they have plenty of natural resources to play and hunt in, but they always like to come back to the cosiness Peter offers them at night. He has a room right above it, where he can hear all their heartbeats as they slumber beneath him, but sometimes it’s more comforting to shift and sleep amongst them. He doesn’t have any family left. He misses pack.

He goes through to the den, empty at this time of day, stepping into the Sanctuary and giving a whistle he knows all the wolves will hear and recognise, wherever they’ve wandered to. “Sophia,” he calls out. “C’mere, girl.”

She’s never deep in the woods. Since she had the pups, she tends to stay close to home. Peter sees her approaching, the pups predictably following along with her.

“Stay inside,” Peter tells Stiles. “She’ll already have your scent, but you’ll spook her even more if she knows you’re that close.”

Stiles moves further inside the den, Peter getting down on his knees to greet Sophia with hugs and scratches, the two pups fighting for attention too. Peter grabs them both by the scruff of their necks, ignoring the whimpers as he pulls them towards the den, but he knows he’s not hurting them, they’re just being drama queens. Sophia steps forward, ready to growl, but Peter gives her a look and she backs down.

“I’ll have them back to you in a minute,” he promises, kicking the door closed with his foot. He lets go of the pups who gather together, cowering by their beds.

“They’re beautiful,” Stiles says with wonder.

“Well, let’s not piss off mom, get to it,” Peter says impatiently.

He grabs the girl first, Della, knowing she’s the more passive of the two. Stiles fumbles with his bag, making Peter rolls his eyes, securing Della against his side. Stiles finally gets himself in order, something a professional might have done while Peter was grabbing the pups for him, approaching Della a little too cautiously. Peter decides not to help him. If he wants to play with wolves, let him.

Stiles gets down to her level, getting hold of her jaw and encouraging her mouth open. She squirms and he lets go, frowning. Peter watches passively on, arm still around her middle, but that’s all the help he’s offering. If Deaton’s going to send strangers, and idiotic ones at that, to his Sanctuary, let them get eaten.

Stiles gives a little huff and tries again, still far too tentative, but his determination manages to get the job done. The pride that radiates off him from such a basic task should be embarrassing.

“Okay,” Peter says, letting go of her so she can return to her brother. “Why don’t you grab Dexter?”

Stiles looks over at the siblings, small but still strong and, thanks to Peter, kept mostly wild. They’re wolves and he makes sure they live like it.

“You want me to get him?” Stiles asks tentatively.

“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” Peter says.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, still staring with apprehension at the wolves. “Yeah,” he says again, getting to his feet. “You can do this,” he mutters under his breath, doubtlessly assuming Peter won’t be able to hear. “This is what you trained for.”

Peter raises his eyebrows, watching with interest. Dexter starts growling as soon as Stiles gets into his personal space, but Stiles at least has enough sense to grab him by the scruff of the neck. He tries to pull him towards Peter but he won’t budge. Stiles looks up, clearly expecting back up, but Peter just looks disinterested. The anxiety in Stiles rises, going sour, but he does a pretty decent job of looking calm, even if Peter can smell the sweaty palms from here, can see his pupils wide from more than just the low light.

Stiles gives him an incredulous look of disbelief and shakes his head, turning back to Dexter who’s starting to snarl. He goes to hold his jaw with his other hand, but he’s moving far too slowly, tentative in a way that makes the pup feel like the alpha. He snaps at Stiles, making him stumble back, and the idiot lets go of Dexter’s scruff, allowing him to launch himself at Stiles. As much as the kid might deserve it, Peter assumes they’ll be a lot of paperwork to fill out if the wolf actually eats him, so he decides to step in.

He moves in front of Stiles, glowing his eyes at Dexter and giving a growl, not caring if Stiles can tell it’s from him. He probably can’t considering he’s sprawled on his butt, arms held up over his face. Dexter whimpers, bowing his head, and Peter grabs him by the scruff of his neck, thrusting his other hand behind himself to Stiles.

“Pill.”

It takes Stiles a moment to comply but then the worming pill is in his hand and Peter tips Dexter’s head back, tossing the pill into his mouth and watching him swallow. He lets go, ushering both pups back to the door where he releases them back through to the Sanctuary and their mother.

Peter turns around to Stiles who doesn’t seem to think getting off the floor is a priority. In fact he’s staring at Peter with something like amazement. Peter can still smell the sour adrenaline on him, along with arousal and elation and something else that Peter can’t quite sort through. Maybe fascination.

“They really listen to you,” Stiles says in awe.

“I didn’t say anything,” Peter points out, picking up Stiles’ bag and throwing it at him. “You can go now.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, his lips turning downward into a frown. “Hey, do you mind if I take a look around? Maybe get a tour?”

“I have shit to do,” Peter says. “And you’re making the wolves uneasy, they don’t like strangers. Go back to the animal clinic. I assume you can handle poodles a little easier than this?”

Stiles’ expression turns stormy. He gets to his feet, letting Peter lead him out. “I’m a good vet.”

“Sure,” Peter says. “Don’t bother coming back.” He’s already pulling his phone out of his pocket to call Deaton before the kid has driven away.

“Hello?”

“Who the hell is this kid?” Peter demands. “Why are you sending him here?”

“That’s Stiles,” Deaton responds in that infuriatingly earnest way. “He was there to give the pups their worming treatment. I’m sure he’s capable of explaining that to you himself.”

“What I would like is for you to explain why you’re sending anyone but you to my Sanctuary,” Peter says. “I was shifted. He could have caught me.”

“I assume he didn’t though,” Deaton says. “Or this would be a very different conversation.”

“Don’t send him again,” Peter growls.

“He volunteered,” Deaton says. “He’s not as interested in the domestic side of veterinary work. He was very eager to go and visit the wolves. And you. He seemed very intrigued by you.”

Peter stares at the jeep disappearing down his driveway, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. “What about me?”

“I’m not sure,” Deaton says. “I think maybe you have his dream job.”

“He doesn’t know about werewolves, does he?” Peter asks.

“I didn’t ask him,” Deaton says, as though Peter is asking about how he takes his coffee. “Though he does have a lot of pet projects that he’s incredibly well-versed in. His well runs deep. But he’s never mentioned the supernatural.”

“I bet you haven’t either,” Peter points out.

“Well, he and I share duties, if he offers to take the role at the wolf Sanctuary again, I won’t stop him,” Deaton says.

“He nearly got eaten,” Peter says. “By a pup. He’s a liability. If you send him again I’m finding another animal clinic to work with.”

“Good luck finding one who is so understanding of your circumstances,” Deaton says, and then the bastard actually hangs up on him.

Sure enough, Stiles’ blue jeep is rumbling back down his driveway two weeks later. Peter had hoped the pups had scared him off. He’d hoped to never see those big, dumb eyes again. Those eyes that had something shining behind them that gave Peter the sensation of something on the tip of his tongue. There was something about the kid. Okay, he was good looking, but all Peter needed right now was somebody who was competent with the wolves and didn’t ask too many questions. Stiles didn’t seem to have either of those qualities.

At least Peter is ready for him this time, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans and boots. He stands with his arms crossed as Stiles climbs out of his jeep with a complete lack of grace.

“Thought you’d try your chances again?” Peter challenges.

“I thought maybe you’d do your part of the job this time,” Stiles says. “Otherwise I’m going to have to start bringing an assistant, and you don’t seem like you want strangers turning up here.”

“One is more than enough,” Peter replies dryly.

“I guess you’re going to help me then,” Stiles says with utter confidence.

“Cocky little shit all of a sudden, aren’t you,” Peter says.

Stiles flashes him a smile, already heading towards the facility. As Peter catches up with him, he’s struck by how good he smells. Not just the emotions, all positive except for the undernote of anxiety that he seems to wear like cologne, but whatever’s beneath it as well. Peter guesses it’s the animals he’s been handling at the clinic. There’s not many species that aren’t comforting to Peter beside humans.

Peter lets them into the building, inhaling as Stiles’ passes by him. His scent is definitely pleasant, whatever it is. Peter calls Sophia to bring her pups closer, grabbing them both by the scruff and guiding them into the den. He can smell Stiles’ anxiety strengthening as he kicks the door closed, but he’s more prepared this time at least, pill in hand, ready to go. Peter holds Della by the scruff of her neck, keeping her steady as Stiles takes hold of her jaw. He makes pretty quick work of it, which Peter refuses to be impressed by, but his anxiety spikes as Peter grabs Dexter, guiding him forward.

Dexter won’t be able to decipher the sour scent as accurately as Peter can, but he won’t like it. Peter keeps a firm grip, giving Dexter a warning look. It’s not out of concern for Stiles’ safety, he chose this job, Peter’s not bailing him out when it gets tough, but the quicker they do this, the quicker this kid can leave, along with all of the uncertainty he brings with him.

Peter can tell how much determination it’s taking for Stiles to keep his hand steady as he holds Dexter’s jaw. Stiles take a breath, psyching himself up before he dares stick his fingers anywhere near those teeth. His fear, at least, doesn’t present in jerky movements. The wolves hate anything but smooth and confident. Deaton, the emotionless cyborg, was always perfect at it. Stiles is like a rush of sensation. Peter hasn’t had to deal with anyone so complex in a long time.

As Stiles steps back, pill successfully administered, Peter opens the door, ushering the pups back out to their waiting mother. When he turns around, Stiles is radiating pride and relief. It’s kind of adorable. In the same way the pups are.

“Hey, do you think I could maybe get that tour now?” Stiles asks. “I have some time before my next appointment.”

“It’s not a tourist attraction, kid,” Peter says.

“My name’s Stiles,” he says. “But I know that you know that.”

Peter gives him a look. This feeling is not affection. Something eases in Stiles.

“I’m asking from a professional curiosity standpoint,” Stiles says. “Because I care about these animals and I’d love to hear more about what you do here.”

And fuck if that isn’t the way directly to Peter’s heart. He looks towards the door leading out of the den as though he’s considering it. “Stay close to me,” he finally says. “And if anyone eats you, I’m telling everyone you brought it upon yourself.”

“Deal,” Stiles says enthusiastically.

Peter leads the way out of the den, immediately looking around to see who’s close by. They’ll all have picked up on Stiles’ scent by now, but Peter can’t see anyone in the immediate area that’s going to be trouble. He gives them all a firm look anyway, sticking close to Stiles to show that they’re together.

“Wow,” Stiles says with a sense of wonder. “They are majestic. You’re so lucky to do this every day. This is like my dream job.”

“Wolves?” Peter asks.

“Just… something real,” Stiles says. He starts to wander away and Peter rolls his eyes, moving to stay close, sending a message to the wolves. “How do you even get into this?” Stiles asks. “I mean, there’s been no wolves in California for sixty years.”

“I have an affinity,” Peter says. “And I have land here. It made sense.”

Stiles nods. “So they’re all rescues? Do you ever rehabilitate any to release back into the wild?”

“If they can be released, I let them go when there’s enough of them,” Peter says. “I want them to have pack, I wouldn’t ever leave a wolf out there alone. They have a pretty good shot if they’re together. But some of them won’t ever be released, they’ve had injuries or they just wouldn’t make it on their own anymore. I give them as authentic a life as they can have here. I don’t want them to be tame. It’s not in their nature.”

“You let them hunt?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t have rabbit proof fences,” Peter says. “If one of them gets in, I won’t call the wolves off. Circle of life.”

Stiles nods, looking sage. “What about the pups?” he asks. “Do they ever get released?”

“If they want to go, I’ll release them with some of their pack,” Peter says. “They usually let me know.”

Stiles turns to face him. “They talk to you?”

Peter gives him a look. “They’re wolves. They don’t talk to anyone.”

“They howl,” Stiles says.

Peter looks behind him at one of the bigger males that’s approaching Stiles to sniff at him. George is a softy who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but Stiles doesn’t need to know that. “They growl too,” he says, nodding to the wolf who’s still edging closer.

Stiles turns and then jumps back, knocking into Peter. His body goes stiff.

Peter leans in, talking low into Stiles’ ear. “Don’t show fear. He’ll go in for the kill.”

Stiles shivers but Peter doesn’t think it’s because he’s scared. His body is warm and he smells so welcoming, like he’s begging for it. Peter takes a step back. His animal instincts aren’t welcome in the human world. Sometimes he forgets how interactions are supposed to go.

“Come on,” he says curtly. “You can ignore him, he’s a teddy bear. I’ll walk you out.”

“Already?” Stiles asks, looking at him stricken.

“Congratulations on not getting killed,” Peter says. “I guess I’ll see you in another two weeks.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles agrees, looking confused as he’s ushered out of the gate. He looks at Peter. “Are you okay?”

Peter stops, staring at him. He can’t remember the last time someone asked him that. He has no idea what the answer is. It makes him feel suddenly adrift.

“Goodbye, Stiles,” he says, turning and walking away.

“Yeah,” Stiles says quietly, a puzzled expression on his face before he’s climbing into his jeep.

Peter keeps himself busy with chores around the Sanctuary for the rest of the day, not wanting to let the niggling thoughts in his brain take hold. He watches the wolves and he wants to shift and go join them, wants to run through the woods, maybe catch a rabbit for himself. He feels uneasy about it though. He feels self-conscious. He can’t remember the last time he saw himself through any lens but his own.

That night, as he lies in bed, tossing and turning as the heartbeats below refuse to comfort him, he feels lonely. Not for the company of the wolves, his pack, but for something else. The companionship he hasn’t dared hope for since his family died, leaving him a scorched house, a huge parcel of land and more money than he could reasonably spend in his lifetime. He gave up on people after that, all they did was destroy each other. Wolves he understood. There were rules. Things made sense. Stiles, with his scents and his curiosity, doesn’t make sense at all.

With a huff, Peter throws the blankets back. He hates that some stupid kid has him so unstuck. It’s just life though. It’s just fragile humanity. The only person Peter has seen besides shop assistants and delivery people in the last couple of years is Deaton, and Peter thinks he might count as less human than Peter does. The guy is weird, but he doesn’t bring any life into the place. He doesn’t have passion or fear or lust.

Peter didn’t smell arousal on Stiles today though. Even last time, he only got turned on by the unexpected sight of a man wearing just sweatpants, and the second time was a fluke of the adrenaline. Peter is not the kind of man who is wanted. He has nothing left to offer now.

He gets to his feet, walking down the stairs without needing to turn on a light. He goes through to the den, shifting as soon as the door is closed behind him, going to join his pack. They greet him, sensing his mood, grooming him in comfort. This is where he belongs.

Peter is tempted to call Deaton several times before the two weeks is up and tell him not to send Stiles again, but in the end he just lets it happen. Stiles finally turns up so late in the day that Peter is beginning to think he’s chickened out. Or hoping. There’s a tiny bit of regret nestled inside him though that he refuses to acknowledge.

He hears the distinctive ailing engine of Stiles’ jeep long before he sees him, and he comes out to the front, trying to push down any relief he might feel. Stiles is only doing his job.

“Hey,” Stiles greets warmly as he jumps out of the jeep.

“You should get that thing checked out,” Peter says critically.

“Oh, every part of her’s fucked,” Stiles responds, the smile not falling from his face. “I carry around a lot of duct tape.”

“Deaton doesn’t pay you enough to be able to afford something from this century?” Peter asks.

“Student debt,” Stiles says. “And nostalgia.”

Peter is tempted to ask, but then he wonders what the fuck he’s doing. He can’t stomach small talk at the best of times, but this is veering dangerously close to _real_ talk. This kid just has Peter’s guard down.

“I’ll get the pups,” he says gruffly, turning towards the facility. As Stiles falls into step beside him, Peter picks up that scent again, the one that’s somehow so pleasing to him, even if he can’t place it.

He pulls the pups into the den, he and Stiles making quick work of it this time, getting the pills administered and the pups back to their mom before they even have chance to get restless. It feels good being in sync. He and Deaton worked like this though. It just means Stiles isn’t completely incompetent anymore. Peter’s not sure he’d trust him treating one of the adult wolves though. Except he would. Instinctively, he knows that he would.

“That’s my last appointment for the day,” Stiles says, zipping up his bag.

“Well, enjoy your evening,” Peter says. He tries not to sigh at the heavy realisation. “It’s a month before the next scheduled treatment, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. He lifts his bag onto his shoulder. “Do you want to get a drink with me?”

Peter stares at him. “A drink?”

“A beer?” Stiles says, his anxiety drenching the small space. “Or a coffee if you prefer.”

“Why?” Peter asks, more bluntly than he intended.

Stiles shrugs. “It’s what people do.”

Right. Peter guesses he’s out of practice. “Okay,” he says. He’s not sure why. He guesses he can’t hide out here forever, and Stiles is a pretty good gateway drug. Peter could get drunk off that scent alone.

Stiles grins at him and he looks so happy. “Great,” he says enthusiastically, bouncing on his feet. “I’ll drive.”

Stiles’ jeep is just as uncomfortable as Peter feared, but he can tell there’s so much affection to Stiles’ attachment to it. Peter thinks maybe he lost someone too. Like knows like. If Peter had some part of his family left, he would have clung to it too, no matter how much it was falling apart. He leans against the door, looking at the Sanctuary in the wing mirror as they drive away, and he realises he already is.

They drive to some bar on the outskirts of town, sitting across from each other in a booth. It’s strangely comfortable. Stiles offers to buy the drinks and Peter doesn’t stop him. As he watches Stiles at the bar, he wonders if this is a date, but that seems like such an antiquated notion. Courting. Stiles is probably new to town, he doesn’t have any friends. That’s all this is. Peter sips his beer and tries not to let any other ideas settle in his mind.

Stiles happily leads the conversation, talking with passion on any given subject, but Peter can tell when it’s something he really cares about. His eyes light up and his whole posture changes. Peter automatically pays more attention whenever this happens.

One drink turns into two and Peter’s responses become a little easier. Stiles is fun. Why does Peter want to deny himself that? Maybe a friend wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

When it comes time to leave, Peter takes out his phone to call a taxi, but Stiles insists on driving him back. Peter doesn’t know what that means but he accepts. It’s not just his own anticipation he can smell above the leaking oil in Stiles’ jeep. When they pull up at the Sanctuary, Peter doesn’t get out right away, staring at the building. It’s not a house but it’s his home. He turns to Stiles.

“Do you want to come in for a coffee?”

It’s such a cliché, but Stiles’ eyes still light up like they did for all the things he loves. They barely make it up the stairs before they’re grabbing at each other, mouths crashing together. Peter presses Stiles back against the wall, Stiles’ arms going around his neck to pull him closer, welcoming it. With their bodies flush, mouths joined together, everything just feels hot and good and right.

Peter has studiously spent the last two weeks, the last month, trying not to think about this, but Stiles doesn’t look like someone who can kiss, awkward and dorky and uncoordinated. How wrong he was. It shouldn’t really be a surprise though, Stiles does everything with passion, and Peter can feel it in the way he licks inside Peter’s mouth, the way he deliberately makes their lips catch, the way he releases one arm from Peter’s neck, touching the scruff on Peter’s face.

Peter, on the other hand, is pretty sure he’s acting like a needy teenager with no finesse. Beside pushing Stiles against the wall, an instinctive, animalistic action, he has no moves. It just feels so good, another body against his, a connection, something with a depth beyond what the wolves could ever give him. He squeezes his eyes shut, his heart fluttering in his chest, grateful that Stiles can’t hear it.

But then Stiles pushes him back, forcing distance between them, and Peter stares at him, stricken by the rejection. Peter is a mess and he’s sub-human and he’s in so far over his head. Stiles smiles at him though, breathless and genuine, before he’s reaching for Peter’s shirt. Peter helps him strip it off, dropping it carelessly onto the floor, not wanting to let his eyes leave Stiles. Stiles’ own gaze scans shamelessly over Peter’s body, fingertips following after, running over his abs as his eyes go dark.

“I have wanted to do this since the first day we met,” he says, voice breathy with awe.

Peter doesn’t remember what this is like, being desired, mutual attraction, acting on wants. He’s cut himself off for so long. He still remembers what comes next though, even if he’s not prepared for it. He takes one of Stiles’ hands, grabbing his attention.

“I didn’t make my bed this morning,” he admits. This is the last thing he expected to happen today.

Stiles snorts a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve made my bed since I started college.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees easily, pulling Stiles by the hand to his bedroom. Perfect doesn’t exist. He chooses to let that knowledge free him.

The blankets are rumpled beneath him, but it’s hard to care when Stiles’ body is weighing him down. This is where Peter’s scent is most pronounced, most intimate, and he buries his face in Stiles’ neck, breathing him in, trying to wash away the loneliness. Stiles dips his head, capturing his mouth again, and Peter slides his hands under Stiles’ T-shirt, palms running over warm skin as they kiss, slower and deeper and all consuming.

When Stiles starts grinding against him, Peter feels like he’s going to come out of his skin. He tugs Stiles’ shirt upwards, Stiles getting the hint and throwing it off, reaching down for his jeans next. Stripping always feels a little awkward, fumbling and more time-consuming than intended, but Peter enjoys watch Stiles sit up to toe off his sneakers, pushing down his jeans and boxers, leaving him awkwardly in his socks for a moment before he tugs them off. There’s something so charming about it. Peter doesn’t feel as impatient as he used to. He wants to savour it, because who knows what comes next.

Stiles is skinny but he’s not rake, he has definite definition, even if he maybe looks like he hasn’t quite grown into his limbs yet. His cock is nice, curved upwards, proud. Peter reaches for it and Stiles lets him, watching Peter’s fingers wrap around his length and give a few tugs. He makes a little noise, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and Peter watches the way he bites his lip, his eyelashes fluttering, and it’s so obscenely beautiful. He loves having this power over him, literally in his hand, but more than anything, he wants to give it up. This isn’t a situation where he needs to be the alpha. That’s not how it works.

He gives Stiles a final squeeze before letting his hand fall away, unbuckling the belt on his jeans. He looks up at Stiles, not knowing how to ask, but Stiles has excellent intuition. He shifts back to pull Peter’s boots off, tug his socks free, and then he strips him of his jeans and underwear. It’s humbling but it’s empowering as well, especially when Stiles pauses to take him in, looking at him like he’s having a religious experience.

Peter reaches for him and Stiles moves down to join him for a kiss, bodies pressed together. It’s overwhelming, so much sensation, being so completely with another person. Peter can’t remember the last time he was touched, the last time he experienced anything more intimate than a handshake or a haircut. He moans, fisting a hand into Stiles’ hair, Stiles kissing him deeper. This is what he’s been craving when he lies with the wolves. He’s not the solitary creature he’s tried to be and they were never going to be enough. This is like breathing again.

They kiss and they touch and they move together, easy and instinctive. Peter rolls them, Stiles wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist as Peter thrusts down against him with a moan. He bows his head, breathing in as he rests his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder, letting the scent of arousal and affection and everything beneath it wash over him. It makes him shudder, clinging to Stiles’ shoulders as he moves against him, Stiles rocking up to meet him. Peter mouths over his flesh as Stiles tightens his legs and that’s all it takes, coming in the tight space between them, making a mess of them both.

Peter’s body gives, swimming in contentment, and it takes him a moment to register Stile’s fingers stroking through his hair, another moment to recognise the still impressively hard cock against his hip. He shifts and Stiles groans, his whole body tightening. Stiles tilts his hips, loosening his legs, and Peter gives him some space to slide his hand between them, Stiles wrapping his fingers around his own cock.

Peter is distantly aware that it’s rude to let him finish on his own, even if his fuzzy brain isn’t quite caught up, but then Stiles places his spare hand on Peter’s shoulder and pushes firmly. Peter doesn’t get it, his mind reeling again, but Stiles’ eyes scan shamelessly down his body and Peter is willing to be an inspiration, especially when Stiles smiles irresistibly before biting down on his lip.

Stiles gets himself off, his body arching from the bed when he comes, and then he uses his hand on Peter’s shoulder to pull him back in for a sloppy kiss. It’s so lazy and sweet and intimate, making Peter sigh against him. When they part, Peter rolls away to catch his breath, closing his eyes to savour the moment.

“Can I watch you shift some time?” Stiles asks with the casualness of asking what his favourite colour is.

Peter’s stomach flips over, turning to face him. “What?”

Stiles rolls onto his side, looking at him. “I want to see you in your wolf form. Well, I mean, seeing you shift would be amazing, but just the wolf is good too.”

Peter stares at him. Was this all just about some kid enamoured with the supernatural? Is he a trophy? “How do you know that?” he asks shakily.

“I read Deaton’s files,” Stiles shrugs.

“He wrote about me in his files?” Peter asks, feeling himself go hot with rage.

“Not for the Sanctuary,” Stiles dismisses. “The ones he keeps in the cabinet in his office that I picked the lock for.”

Peter laughs despite himself. “You are a little shit, aren’t you?”

“To be fair, I literally never try to hide that fact,” Stiles says.

“So that’s why you wanted to come here,” Peter says, resignation clear in his voice.

“I really am interested in the Sanctuary and the wolves,” Stiles tells him earnestly. “And I really was interested in you. Lycanthropy aside, I’m still interested in you. That’s just a fascinating character trait. Really fascinating. But this was about you. Just you.”

His heart never falters and Peter finally works out what that scent is. Acceptance. It’s been so long since Peter’s been around it that he’s forgotten the subtleties. He can pick them out now though, radiating from Stiles, and he trusts him. He wants to drench this room with it, let it permeate the sheets so that it never goes away.

He grabs the blankets, pulling them up over them, and he thinks this is a pretty solid start.


End file.
